


To the victor go the spoils

by rebelontherocks



Series: Tribute for the Prince [2]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 06:04:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14158401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelontherocks/pseuds/rebelontherocks
Summary: He's driving himself mad hoping for one of those big hands to slide down his waist and grab his ass. He has a terrible nightmare in which Javi finally kisses him, and when Yuzuru confesses he has feelings for him too, a confused Javi informs him that's just how really good friends greet each other in Spain.





	To the victor go the spoils

**Author's Note:**

> So my original idea was to write everything up to PyeongChang from both Javi and Yuzu's pov, but I realised that there was a real possibility I might get bored of telling the same story, even from a different perspective, halfway through writing Javi's fic. So the next instalment will pick up where this one left off.

When Yuzuru first sees Javier Fernandez skate the first thing he admires is his perfect quad sal, the second is his ass. He doesn't know what that's all about, not back then, but he thinks to himself that he should probably keep an eye on this guy. When he turns senior he starts seeing a lot more of Javier, who starts noticing him back. He's only three years older than Yuzuru, but when he's fifteen that feels like a lot, like Javier is a grown man instead of a teenager like him. Javier smiles at him and congratulates him in soft-spoken English that Yuzuru barely understands. His smile is as warm as his brown eyes. Yuzuru thinks he would do a lot to see that smile shining down on him.

 

When his coach suggests Yuzuru needs a challenge he doesn't mull it over for too long before agreeing. It's true, he's getting restless, making mistakes because he's pushing himself too fast, too soon. Losing focus. He's still doing well, getting medals and improving his scores, but he's not as good as he knows he can be. And that's unacceptable. His mother says he's growing too big for his bones, Yuzuru doesn't think it's a matter of size but of weight, he feels heavy, dragged down by some unseen force determined to hold him back. He's a figure skater, he's supposed to soar. 

And he does, on a plane a couple of months later bound for Toronto. Where he hopes to find his wings again.

\---

He does find his wings, and more than he bargained for along the way. 

Brian is an exacting coach, he expects Yuzuru to follow his instructions and to trust that he knows what he's doing, and that it's the best for his career. Yuzuru does, begrudgingly in the beginning, and later with the total conviction of a new convert. He can feel his bones expanding, making room for all of him, and he has never felt lighter. 

And then there's Javi – and he is Javi now. A reassuring presence across the ice, and a recurring one in Yuzuru's dreams. He's figured out why he likes having Javi's eyes on him so much, and not in the same way he usually likes having all eyes on him, this is different. It marks Yuzuru as different too. It's hard to remember why moving to Canada was a good thing, a necessary thing, in the thick of winter, but when he can't stop picturing Javi's hands all over him Yuzuru thinks maybe Canada was a good change of scenery, for reasons other than skating. 

Javi's hands do end up all over him, more often than not, but to Yuzuru's perpetual confusion Javi doesn't seem to mean anything by it. He's heard of language barrier – he lives with it every day – but this is a barrier that defies convention. Javi hugs him tight, touches his neck, his waist, his hips, praises his jumps, his spins and his transitions with sincere delight. And through all that he shows no sign of wanting to fuck Yuzuru. 

"Is normal for European skaters to be kind to rivals?" He asks Brian, one day, already at the end of his rope. Cursing the paltry English vocabulary that makes him sound unsure and clumsy.

"Goodness, no. There's so much bad blood between European countries, they all have some silly six-hundred-year-old reason to hate each other. When they're representing their countries, all those little things that don't matter at all in day-to-day life are suddenly life and death." 

Yuzuru understood only half of that, but he is sure he didn't ask for an abridged lesson on the history of Europe. Besides, he's Japanese, he understands centuries old grudges just fine. He tries again, "No, is normal to be really friendly with rivals, all rivals."

"Oh, I suppose it depends on how strong the competition is. I guess the Europeans have a tendency to be friendlier with skaters from outside Europe. The guys before you, Lambiel and Plushenko were good friends with Weir, but only ever cordial with each other, and Plushenko and Yagudin of course hated each other. But you know that." Brian pauses and fixes Yuzuru with a questioning look. "Is this about Javi?"

"No, paper for school. Goodbye."

 That was no help at all, and Yuzuru is no closer to understanding why Javier touches him so often, but with no apparent second-intentions. He's driving himself mad hoping for one of those big hands to slide down his waist and grab his ass. He has a terrible nightmare in which Javi finally kisses him, and when Yuzuru confesses he has feelings for him too, a confused Javi informs him that's just how really good friends greet each other in Spain.

\---

He improves steadily under Brian, Ghislain, and Tracy's coaching. He's never been more tired in his life, and he's sure he'll have the aches and pains of an old man by the time he retires, but it's worth it. It's all worth it to stand atop the podium and know he's the best. That all the hard work paid off, that his perfectionism had a point, that there was a method to his madness and it was paying dividends. Javier is standing either to his left or right more often than not, and he smiles at Yuzuru and whispers fond congratulations into his neck when they hug. 

Yuzuru has little to no intention of helping fuel the western media's desire for petty rivalries and catfights between skaters; he wants to win but never at the expense of anyone's dignity. And when he wins, he wants the headline to be about his victory, nothing else. Even so, Javier is too nice, to everyone, but to Yuzuru especially. Javi must realise that if Yuzuru wasn't around he would be the one sitting atop the podium most of the time. He doesn't seem to care, he jokes around with Yuzuru during competitions, whisks him away when he's talking with other skaters, to tell him something, to tickle him, to bury his face in Yuzuru's neck, to drive him insane with sexual frustration and then do nothing about it. 

Javi is an exercise in contradictions, he'll plaster himself to Yuzuru's side for most of a competition, and then he'll join some of the other guys in discussing how beautiful a certain girl is, and what a shame, that she doesn't give any of them the time of the day. He once tried to rope Yuzuru into one of these conversations, and he was only saved from having to come up with something, anything, to say about Tessa's legs by Brian showing up and telling him he wanted to go over a few jumps before the short skate. 

In the meantime, he tries to put the matter out of his mind. If Javi wants to spend his days touching him and then go talk about girls with other guys, then that's his business. Yuzu has other friends that he only gets to see at competitions and he's happy to spend time with them. 

"You're fighting with Javi, yes?" Misha asks him, out of the blue, while they're skating around making faces at each other from time-to-time.

Yuzuru stops and stares at him, he has no idea what this is about. "Why you say that?"

"You're always searching for him with your eyes. You're talking with me, but you're looking at him," Misha says, shrugging. "But then, you catch his eye and he waves you over and you don't go. So, you must be fighting." 

"He is confusing."

Misha nods in understanding. "Because he's Spanish."

"No! Has nothing to do with country." Although... Yuzuru thinks that over for a moment, maybe Misha is on to something. "Spanish people, very touchy?"

"Sensitive?"

Fuck, this is why he usually just smiles and asks for piggy-back rides. "No," he sighs and grabs Misha's hand, places it on his own waist and crowds in closer, until their noses are almost touching. "This."

"Oh," Misha says, and lets his hand fall away. "They are affectionate, yes. Most southern Europeans, also."

So that's it then? Javi really is just being friendly with him? Yuzuru tries not to look too crestfallen in front of Misha but he must fail in sonorous fashion.

"Hey," Misha says with a smile, bumping into Yuzuru with his shoulder. "I think you're special, he touches a lot of people but he only holds on to you."

"Maybe," Yuzuru says, scrapping at the ice in front of him with his skate.

 "Come on, let's go annoy the others." Misha skates behind him and pushes Yuzuru forward by the shoulders, Yuzuru leans back and makes himself deadweight, he laughs as Misha struggles to hold him up. 

He does have a good time hanging out with the other skaters. Some of Javi's tactile nature must have rubbed off on him, because he notices himself touching other people a lot, and he finds he has no difficulty making himself understood despite the language barrier. In a way it makes sense, so much of figure skating is talking with the body, using a universal language to w eave a complex narrative through movement. Yuzuru has always loved that, the choreography, the artistry, using his body to express his feelings. It's helpful when trying to communicate, and he realises he finds it comforting, to touch and be touched, it's grounding in a primal way. Humans are pack animals, no matter what modern social conventions dictate, and Yuzuru spends so much time alone, with only his thoughts for company, perhaps he needs human touch more than most. He also realises that while, unlike Javi, most people won't initiate physical contact with him, they're more than happy to return it. The girls will only put up with his antics for so long, before growing weary, and he respects their space. But the boys indulge him, often. It's a revelation, learning that he can skate up to people who are meant to see him as a rival, and demand they spin him, chase him around, or just plain stop what they're doing and pay attention to him, and they'll do it. All eyes on him. It's a different kind of rush than being at the top of a podium, but it thrills him nonetheless. Some eyes linger. Javi might not know what he wants yet, but some of his friends do, and it's not Tessa's legs. Yuzuru skates away to go join some of the ice dancers in their weird game of patty cakes. Some eyes follow him. He makes sure to put on a nice step sequence for their benefit all the way there. 

\---

There's someone watching him. He can feel a gaze boring into the back of his skull as he goes through some choreography. The mirror he's facing obstructs the view to the rink's entrance, but he can still feel someone's eyes on him like a solid presence. When he turns around there's a tall, broad guy, halfway in halfway out the door staring at him like a spooked rabbit. Yuzuru raises an enquiring eyebrow at him and the guy bolts. As far as stalkers go, he's a handsome one, Yuzuru wouldn't mind seeing him again.

He doesn't have to wait long. The guy is there the next day, peeking through the open doorway, and holding a little girl by the hand, who Yuzuru recognises from the junior curling teams, which train at some of the other rinks in the TCC. So, not a stalker, an opportunist. Yuzuru waves at him, the guy looks shocked for a second before waving shyly back with his free hand. Cute.

Yuzuru is so engrossed in his own thoughts, wondering what kind of person is bold enough to spy on a private skating practice but so shy as to not even introduce himself when acknowledged, that he doesn't hear Javi approaching. He comes to a stop next to Yuzuru and rests a hand on his shoulder before asking, "Who's that?"

Javi was skating all the way across the rink so he must be really curious. Yuzuru smiles. "Family of curling student."

"What was he doing here, then?" Javi asks, tracking the stranger's retreating back with a suspicious scowl. 

"Watching me."

Javi looks at him with a concerned expression, eyebrows still drawn tight. "Do you want me to warn someone about him?"

"No, he's hot." Javi does a double-take at that, and his hand tightens on Yuzuru's shoulder. He cannot be that dense. Yuzuru refuses to believe this is news to him and just barrels on, "Next time, maybe he does more than watch." 

Yuzuru skates backwards away from Javi, and tries not to smile at the confused frown on his face. 

He gets his chance to learn the mysterious guy's name the next day, when he bumps into him as he pokes his head through the door just as Yuzuru is coming out.

"Oh, sorry," the guy says, in a deep accented voice. Yuzuru can't quite place it, but he likes it. 

"You like watching me," Yuzuru says, aware that he sounds a lot more direct than he would like to, but needs must. Every conversation would take an age if he carefully considered every word for its Japanese translation. 

"Wow, you don't mince words," the guy says, wincing slightly. Maybe Yuzuru could have done with some extra consideration this time.

"My English, still improving," he adds, by way of apology. 

"Oh, I didn't know, your accent is pretty good, already."

Yuzuru doesn't know if he's just being polite, or trying to sweet-talk him, but he appreciates the compliment anyway. Many Canadians, and English speakers in general, seem frustrated that he isn't already perfectly fluent, as if they've bothered to learn any other language. 

"You have accent too," he tells the guy, hoping his smile is friendly enough to make up for the curtness of his words.

"Yeah, I'm from Québec, my first language is French, but I grew up speaking English too." He seems to have a strong opinion about that, judging by his tone, and Yuzuru likes him already. "I'm Émile, by the way." 

They shake hands and Yuzuru bows, Émile does that endearing thing some westerners do, and reflexively bows too. "Yuzuru Hanyu, nice to meet you." 

It's always weird to introduce himself by his given name first, and in an informal context such as this he could even have omitted his family name. Émile didn't volunteer his, and Yuzuru will likely not learn it unless he asks, or unless Émile mentions it in passing. In the West it doesn't matter where you come from but who you are. In the beginning Yuzuru found it selfish, self-centred, but now he's beginning to come around to it. Maybe his mother's tone had been more chiding than he remembers when she said he was getting too big for his bones. 

"You, uhm, skate really beautifully," Émile tells him, after a moment's quiet, rubbing at his neck and avoiding Yuzuru's eyes.

"Thank you, I know," Yuzuru says. It makes Émile laugh for some reason. He has a nice clear laugh, Yuzuru notes. "You skate too?"

"Oh, yeah, different kind though, I'm a hockey player."

Yuzuru hasn't watched much hockey, but it's inescapable in Canada. He knows that it's fast paced, often violent, which seems to be part of the draw for fans, and it involves a lot of hideous protective gear, which, looking at Émile's handsome face and large biceps, feels like a waste. 

"Maple leafs?" Yuzuru asks, uncertain. He has a vague recollection of that being the local Toronto team. 

"Ah, no, I wish, even if they suck. No, I'm still in the OHL, didn't get drafted this year, better luck next year." He puts on a cheerful voice, but he's easy to read, Yuzuru is all too familiar with the angry sting of failure.

 

"You want to take me out?" Yuzuru asks, changing tracks on the conversation, but judging by Émile's incredulous   smile it's appreciated. There's something he might win at yet, and Yuzuru doesn't mind being a prize. 

"Yeah, I really want that!" Émile says. "When are you free?"

"Tomorrow, practice finishes at seven."

"Great, I'm free too. I'll come pick you up." Émile sounds elated and shy at the same time, and it makes something in Yuzuru's middle warm up. It's a dull ember compared to the blaze a single of Javier's smiles awakens, but it's a start, maybe it can even be enough. Not all fires are wildfires.

\---

The next day Yuzuru is in the locker room, freshly showered, and changing into his street clothes, mentally going over a couple of sentences in English he can say to Émile, while putting on some jeans. Javi is sitting on the next stall over, slipping on his boxers under the cover of his towel. There's always been this sort of weird modesty between them, they're never completely naked in each other's presence. At first Yuzuru thought it might be due to a misconception about Japanese prudishness on Javi's part, and instead of correcting him, he just went along with it. But he soon learnt Javi only acted this way around him, according to other Japanese and Asian skaters, he had no problem getting naked in front of them. Yuzuru has a theory why, but he doesn't think Javi is ready to learn about his findings. 

They dress in companionable silence. Javi averting his eyes without looking like he's doing it on purpose, Yuzuru trying to look his fill without being too obvious. Yuzuru is packing up the last of his gear when Javi says, "hey, you wanna come over tonight? We can order take-out and play video games."

"Sorry, already have plans," Yuzuru says affecting a casual tone. He doesn't want to tell Javi about his date with Émile. Although a small, petty, part of himself wants to rub his face in it just a little.

"Are you doing something special with your mother?" he asks, quirking an eyebrow. 

Yuzuru huffs, annoyed. "With friend."

"Who?" Now Javi is really confused, likely going through a mental tally of all the people Yuzuru knows in Toronto and deciding none of them qualify as friends per se. 

He would be right, which only annoys Yuzuru more, so he decides a little rubbing might be in order. "Fine, date."

"You have a date?" Javi asks, his voice rising on the last syllable. He tries to mask it with a cough. 

He wishes he had the words to say, with vicious bluntness, 'Yes, because some guys aren't repressed idiots, who probably jerk off thinking about me, and then fool themselves into thinking it means nothing. Some guys, Javi, when they see something they want, go after it,' but he doesn't have those words, not in English. So, instead he says, "Yes. Goodbye." And leaves the locker room and an incredulous Javi behind. 

Émile takes him to a Québécois restaurant Yuzuru has never been to. Which isn't surprising, he has lived in Toronto for almost two years and seen precious little of the city in that time.

"I didn't know what you liked, and I thought maybe taking you to a Japanese restaurant would be corny, you probably know all the good ones anyway, and this place has a nice variety, so..." Émile says, after they're seated. He's nervous, Yuzuru notices.

"I like it," he says, looking around and smiling.

In all honesty, it's a restaurant like many others. The only things that mark it as different than any Toronto restaurant are the wall decorations in French, and a Québec flag, but he wants to make Émile feel at ease. Yuzuru wonders if maybe this is a first for him as well, going out with a guy. It's possible that if Émile had been drafted he wouldn't be able to be here with him. It fills Yuzuru with a tremendous wave of sympathy. From what he knows, Canada is one of the best countries in the world to be a gay person, but the sports world will always be its own entity. They have that in common. Plus, the ice, and they're both transplants in Toronto. That's a start, Yuzuru is good at finding common ground. He can see it in his mind's eye, now: the hockey player and the figure skater. They would look good together, make a nice picture. Émile would be at some of his competitions, sing his praises to the press, the proud boyfriend. Yuzuru would wear his team's jersey and watch his games, they would show him cheering on the jumbotron, he and Émile would skate together on the ice after Émile won whatever it is hockey players win. The more he thinks about it the more impossible it sounds, and the less Yuzuru is sure he wants it at all. The reality is, they would never be able to come out, even less so if Émile were drafted. He could end up on a team in America, and they would barely see each other. Yuzuru is sure he wants that least of all. Yuzuru glances over at Émile; while Émile pores over the menu wondering out loud what to order, Yuzuru has already considered and discarded their future together. A rival back in juniors once accused him of only winning because he was as cold as the ice he skated on. For the first time, Yuzuru thinks his words might have merit.

"So, uhm, I hear you're going to the Olympics, I can't even imagine what that's like, you must be ecstatic," Émile says, after they've ordered, oblivious to Yuzuru's inner turmoil.

Yuzuru is glad to be pulled back from his musings. Thoughts of his doomed future with Émile only remind him of his and Javi's stillborn one, so he puts on a winsome smile and says, "Scared shitless." About more than one thing.

Émile laughs, loud and delighted, and grins at him. And it's such a shame they'll never work, because Yuzuru loves being looked at like that.  

They have a good time, Émile does most of the talking, but Yuzuru interjects here and there, when he's sure his English won't fail him. Émile wants to know the extent of Yuzuru's swear word repertoire, which is vast because it has always been important for Yuzuru to be fluent in that department. In turn Émile teaches him swear words in French, which are all religious objects or rituals, for some reason. Yuzuru concludes people in Québec must be militant atheists with a vitriolic hatred of the Catholic church - Yuzuru makes a mental note to visit when he has the time. According to Émile he gets 'osti' right by the time they order dessert. He makes a game of trying to make Émile laugh and choke on his cheesecake by saying it at odd intervals while they eat. 

They split the bill and Émile walks Yuzuru outside with a possessive hand on his waist. He tries and fails to say something three times before Yuzuru takes matters into his own hands and raises up on his tiptoes to kiss him. It's a short kiss, just the barest brush of lips, but they're in public and Yuzuru feels daring for even that little.

"I take it that means you enjoyed yourself," Émile says, with a rueful smile.

Yuzuru nods. "Very much. You?"

"Shit, yeah, I had a lot of fun." He smiles again before leaning down to kiss Yuzuru once more. This time the kiss is deeper, Émile's hand cradles his neck and Yuzuru clings to his coat's lapels. They're in the middle of the street, with people walking all around them, and no one cares. 

"Maybe we can do this again, soon?" Émile asks, when they break apart.

Yuzuru smirks, before saying one of the sentences he's been going over in his head since that morning, "Maybe you can take me to bed." 

Émile's eyes widen, before glazing over. His voice sounds rough when he says, "Yeah, I can do that."

Yuzuru has sex for the first time in his life over the back of a couch in Émile's living room, looking out at the Toronto skyline through panoramic windows. As soon as Yuzuru sees those huge windows and the twinkling lights of the nighttime cityscape, he knows he wants both the show and the view. Émile's apartment isn't very big, but it's a high-rise, and that skyline is worth every overpriced cent. They make out lazily on the couch, losing clothes between kisses, but when Émile tries to move things to the bedroom Yuzuru holds him back, drapes himself over the warm leather and says, "Right here."

Yuzuru tries to rush Émile all through prep, telling him to hurry up, Émile holds him down with his free hand on Yuzuru's back, and tells him to pipe down; Yuzuru likes that so much he stops complaining. When Émile finally pushes inside it's slow and careful. Yuzuru didn't tell him it was his first time, but he either guessed or found Yuzuru too tight. Yuzuru appreciates the gesture, but he doesn't have the patience for drawing things out this much, so he shoves himself back on Émile's cock, making them both groan. 

"You'll hurt yourself," Émile warns, through gritted teeth.

Yuzuru wants to laugh, as if anything about this has the power to hurt him. The ice tried to break him a million times over and failed. By now, pain is only the reminder he's pursuing something worthwhile, if he isn't hurting he isn't working hard enough. And Émile isn't giving him much of a workout. 

"I fuck myself harder, alone," Yuzuru says, and raises one leg up on the couch, opening himself up even more.

Émile lets out a string of expletives and slams into him with purpose, Yuzuru arches his back and moans in approval. That's what he was looking for, that sweet, overwhelming burn he could only imagine before. Every stroke lights him up, makes some long dormant nerve endings in his spine wake up and set him trembling. Émile aims his thrusts downwards, hitting Yuzuru's prostate with vicious accuracy and Yuzuru shouts. He can't hear anything besides the sound of flesh hitting flesh, can't see anything besides the twinkling lights outside, all those thousands of people unknowing witnesses to his pleasure. 

Émile leans down over him, and licks a strip of skin on Yuzuru's nape, before saying against his ear, "I'm close."

Yuzuru nods, and clenches hard on Émile's cock, making him curse feverishly, before shoving himself back against him, chasing his own pleasure. Émile snakes one hand around Yuzuru's waist and wraps it around his cock, his rhythm is off, and his grip isn't tight enough, but Yuzuru doesn't need much. A few strokes later and he's coming all over the black leather couch, looking out into the night, wondering insanely what GOE a panel of judges would award him for this, before his mind blanks out. Émile follows soon after, tipped over the edge by the contractions of Yuzuru's orgasm. 

They stay frozen in place for a moment, Émile panting harshly against Yuzuru's back and running gentle hands over his sides and sensitised nipples. Yuzuru's body is still being racked by shivers, and he trembles more violently with each pass of Émile's hands. He feels like an exposed nerve.

Émile presses one last soft kiss to Yuzuru's nape and pulls out of him, before making his way to the bathroom to go deal with the condom. Yuzuru remains where he is, lamenting that they had to use one at all, he thinks he would enjoy the sensation of cum running out of him and down his thighs. Maybe one day.

\---

They settle into an easy flow over the next weeks. Training for the Sochi Olympics ramps up, and Émile often has to travel for his games, so they can't see each other all the time, but they make an effort, and Yuzuru sleeps over whenever he can. In a weird turn of events, Javi takes to asking him over almost every week too. It's bizarre considering they used to hang out outside of practice maybe once or twice a month. Yuzuru turns him down each time. Between hanging out with Javi and stewing over his unrequited feelings, which only stay that way because Javi doesn't care to examine his own too closely, and spending time with Émile watching shitty movies and having sex, the competition isn't stiff.    

He doesn't think Javi knows about him and Émile, although other people, including Brian, do by now. Émile likes to walk him to the TCC when Yuzuru sleeps over, and they kiss goodbye at the doors, but Javi is almost always late to practice so it's unlikely he could have seen them. Still, he is determined to spend time with Yuzuru, and no matter how often he gets shot down, his genial smile never falters. 

He is complaining about Javi's weird behaviour to Émile, while they're having dinner together, when things come to a head between them. 

"Maybe you should tell him you want to spend time with your boyfriend," Émile says, between mouthfuls of rice.

Yuzuru is silent for a long time. Right, he should have seen this coming. He made the one-sided decision that anything between him and Émile would remain casual, and probably have an expiration date in the not so distant future, and then kept the information to himself. Émile was affectionate and kind with him from the start, he talks often about his friends and family, but it's obvious he's been spending all of his free time with Yuzuru, Yuzuru has done the same, but he doesn't have the extensive social circles Émile does. It's evident he's been treating this as a serious relationship, and Yuzuru just let it go over his head. 

"We-, uhm, I-, not boyfriends. We can't date," Yuzuru says, with all the grace of a flubbed jump.

"What? Why not."

The explanation is convoluted, multifaceted, involves international waters, and no amount of proficiency in swearing in English or French is going to help Yuzuru explain himself. So, he sticks to the only part of it he knows will make some sense. "I love someone else."

"You fell in love with someone else in the past three weeks?" Émile asks, incredulous and hurt.

"No. No, for years. I love him for years. But is hopeless. He does not want to like me."

"But you can tell he does?" Émile has bridged the distance from hurt into annoyed and is close to landing on angry. 

"Sometimes I think yes, sometimes not. There's no point." Speaking these things out loud is making him realise he sounds like an asshole. Émile is staring at him like he shares the sentiment. 

"So, you've been in love with this guy for years. You think there's no chance of the two of you ever getting together, but you won't pursue a relationship with anyone else, until what? Your feelings go away?" Émile asks.

"Yes." There's also some other factors preventing him from pursuing a relationship with Émile specifically, but overall Yuzuru would say he has the gist of it.

" _T_ _orrieu_ , Zuzu that's dumb. That's really dumb." Émile still sounds annoyed, but Yuzuru thinks the use of the nickname is a good sign, the profanity, less so. 

"I'm sorry," Yuzuru says, hanging his head. He can feel tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, but he knows his crying sometimes comes off as an underhand tactic, so he tries to hold them back. 

"So, what are we? A hook-up? Fuckbuddies? Friends with benefits?" Émile lets out a dejected sigh and rubs his face.

Yuzuru knows all those words are somewhat synonyms, but the first two sound too crass and shallow for what they have. Yuzuru treasures Émile, is glad to have met him, and for the time they've spent together. He didn't realise how lonely he was until he had Émile. That's not nothing. "Last one," he says, with some trepidation still.

"I guess...I guess that's fine," Émile says, sounding resigned. 

Yuzuru still sleeps over, but they don't have sex that night, and the bed feels cold with the distance between them.

Things go back to normal over the next week. Émile starts being affectionate again, and Yuzuru soaks it up, revelling in every hug, every kiss. He manages to halfway talk himself into believing his first assessment was hasty, that maybe it could work out between him and Émile. If things got hard in the future, so what? They could break up then, or maybe even find a way to work around it. He just knows Émile deserves better. But then Javi will see him struggle with a spin, and skate up to him and offer him a water bottle and some words of encouragement, and Yuzuru's chest will constrict, like an invisible fist got a hold of his lungs. And he will know that while Émile deserves better, he won't be the one to give it to him. If he was less selfish he would let him go, end things for good. But he can't deal with the pressure of the Olympics looming ever closer, and the loneliness on top of that. He can't go back to spending all his time with just his mother for company. Trying to keep in touch with old friends in Japan who have their own lives, and no time for his. Torturing himself spending time with Javi, while feeling guilty because Javi's friendship feels like a slap on the face when he wants more.

Émile for his part acts as if nothing has changed. They joke around each other with the same ease as always, Émile fucks him hard, just the way Yuzuru likes, while touching him with soft, reverent hands, and he still walks Yuzuru to practice when he has the time, still kisses him softly goodbye at the door. 

It's during one of those goodbye kisses that Javi catches them.

As they pull away, Émile smiles and leans over to give Yuzuru one last gentle peck, before saying, "Have a good day, Zuzu." 

"You too. See you later," Yuzuru says, waving after him. When he turns around to walk inside he comes face to face with a stone-faced Javi. "Uh," he starts, eloquently. "Good morning. You are early."

"I'm on time."

"Early for you," Yuzuru says, still trying to parse the complex emotion taking up residence on Javi's face. 

"Right." Javi says and walks inside the TCC without another word. 

Yuzuru follows after him, thinking that couldn't have gone much worse. 

Practice is a chilly affair, they don't talk much, other than what is necessary to navigate the ice around each other. After, when they're getting dressed in the locker room Yuzuru forgoes their idiotic ritual modesty and drops his towel as soon as he gets to his stall. If Javi is so bothered he can look the other way. Yuzuru hopes he has hickeys and bruises in compromising places. He puts on his clothes as if they've done him personal harm, his arms make sound going through the sleeves. 

Every second Javi stays silent Yuzuru feels himself getting more frustrated. "What?" he finally asks, almost shouting and fixing Javi with a glare.

Javi glares right back. "Why didn't you trust me?"

"What?" He asks again, this time confused instead of angry.

"Did you think I was going to be an asshole about this? Is that what you think of me?"

"I didn't tell anyone."

"Brian knew," Javi says, accusing.

"Brian saw. I didn't tell."

Javi slumps in his seat, the fight draining out of him. Yuzuru doesn't quite know what to make of the situation, Javi isn't reacting like he expected. 

"You know, Yuzu, it's hard trying to be your friend when you keep everyone at arm's length," Javi says, then picks up his bag and leaves.

Yuzuru is still rattled by the time he shows up at Émile's place. Émile gestures him in with a smile, but instead of kissing him on the lips, pecks him on the forehead. Uh, it seems the day still isn't done throwing him for a loop.

He leads Yuzuru to the couch, and they sit facing each other. Yuzuru feels apprehensive, the air between them is fraught with something he can't name. Émile sighs, runs his hands through his hair, and finally says, "I think we should stop seeing each other."

"Why?" Yuzuru asks, he was expecting something like this after Émile's odd behaviour but it still comes as a shock.

"I told myself that maybe if we kept spending time together you'd realise how good we were, and forget all about that other guy, but...That was him today, right? I saw him looking at you." Yuzuru nods. "He didn't look like he was confused about his feelings. He looked crushed." 

"No, he was angry with me. Because he thinks I don't trust him enough, to tell about you," Yuzuru says, realising he sounds pleading and vaguely pathetic. 

"I don't think that was all. But even so," he lets out a stuttering sigh. "I realised one day you'd put that look on my face too, and I don't want to go through that."

Yuzuru doesn't know what to say to that, so he reaches for Émile's hand and holds it for a moment. They stay in silence for a while, holding hands, saying goodbye in this quiet, introspective way.  When Yuzuru thinks he can speak without his voice breaking he looks Émile in the eyes, and says, "I'm sorry I hurt you."

    

Émile nods. "I think you've probably hurt a lot of people without meaning to, Zuzu." His voice is kind, and he smiles when he presses a kiss to Yuzuru's hair. 

Yuzuru is proud for holding himself together all the way home, and through dinner with his mother, who didn't expect to see him until tomorrow. He only lets himself cry when he's alone in his room, curled up in a comforter, and muffling his sobs against a pillow. 

\---

Brian is the first to notice something isn't right. Yuzuru is nailing all his jumps and the choreography flows smoothly, but he isn't as animated in practice as he used to be. When Brian makes any suggestions, he listens and follows his advice, instead of talking back and voicing his own thoughts. He and Javi are more like Lambiel and Plushenko, than Lambiel and Weir. Cordial, not friendly. 

"Is everything alright between you and your young man?" Brian asks, during a break.

Yuzuru shakes his head. "Over."

"Ah, well, Yuzu, you know, you're both young, these things happen, maybe you'll even get back together, you never know..." Brian is doing his best to sound reassuring, and he pats Yuzuru on the back a couple of times, like a supportive father. The idea of that is almost enough to make Yuzuru crack a smile. 

"Is not that," he pauses. "Brian, am I selfish?"

If Brian is taken aback by his question he doesn't let it show. He's quiet for a moment before saying, "Yes, Yuzu, of course you are. I don't know a top figure skater who isn't. But there's a difference between the selfishness of putting your career first, and the selfishness of putting your feelings first because you can't spare a thought for someone else's." Yuzuru nods but remains quiet. Brian pats him on the back again before moving away to confer with Tracy. 

It's a relief when practice is finally over, he can't stand the distance between him and Javier now that he isn't filled with the righteous indignation of the previous day. It's a punch in the gut realising he expects too much of people and gives back too little. He stands under the shower spray in the locker room just letting the water beat down on him without moving for a long time, trying to get his thoughts in order. He wishes he had been honest with Émile from the start. He wishes he could be happy just being Javi's friend instead of blaming him for not wanting the same things he does. He wishes his drive to win on the ice didn't have to translate to every aspect of his life. 

He's in his room trying to watch tape, but his mind keeps wandering. He can hear his mother moving around the apartment, humming some old song to herself. The sound of the upstairs' neighbours walking around with heavy plodding footsteps as if they have hooves. Somewhere a faucet is dripping. He gives up on the tape, he already knows what his best performances look like, and takes out his phone to begin composing an e-mail to Émile. It's long, because he's better at writing English than speaking it, and he takes the opportunity to say everything he wishes he had when they were still together. The point of the whole thing is: He thinks Émile is a great person, he's glad they met, he's sorry he caused him pain, and hopes they can remain friends but understands if Émile would rather not. He re-reads it several times, to make sure he doesn't come across as whiny or entitled, and hits send. 

To Javi he sends only a short text, 'Can I come over?'. The reply arrives a few agonising minutes later, 'Yes.'

Yuzuru stops by a convenience store to pick up some snacks, because it feels rude to show up at someone's door this late with nothing to show for the inconvenience. Javi smiles when he sees the chips. Sour cream for Yuzuru, barbecue for Javi. 

"Are we having a movie night? I don't have anything queued up," Javi says, taking the chips from Yuzuru and walking towards the kitchen. 

"No, I, wanted to talk, is all." He follows Javi into the kitchen, taking stock of the apartment along the way. It doesn't look any different than the last time he was here. Maybe a little messier. He has the overwhelming urge to pick up after Javi, fold his laundry and tidy up the magazines strewn everywhere, but he knows most people hate it when he does that. 

"So, talk," Javi says, setting down the chips on a counter and turning around to face Yuzuru, arms crossed in front of his chest. He doesn't look hostile, Yuzuru is relieved to see. 

"I'm sorry, I trust you, not trying to keep you awa-"

Javi cuts him off, "No, Yuzu, stop, I had no right to demand you tell me anything. I was just-," he looks off into the distance and shakes his head. "I don't know, I think, it made me realise some things."

"What thin-" before Yuzuru can finish Javi interrupts him again.

"Plus, you know, the stress about the Olympics, I've just been really out of it, and I took it out on you. I'm the one who's sorry."

It's not lost on him that he came here to apologise and somehow ended up being apologised to. But he's not going to push his luck and press Javi for answers. He's made up his mind about accepting whatever Javi wants to give him, even if that's evasive half-answers. 

They do end up moving into the living room with snacks, and Javi picks a random movie on Netflix, even if they both agree its tv show selection is way better than the movie options, which tend to be dated or have low ratings. They talk more than watch anyway, trading jokes about the terrible CGI and the hammy acting. It's nice, companionable, but there's still something unsaid hanging over them. Yuzuru can't truly relax. The air is thick with some unnamed tension they're both doing their best to ignore. Yuzuru doesn't know if it's just the awkwardness of the recent fight, if it can be called that, still making things between them hard to navigate, or if there's something more.

He's the first one to crack. "What is it, Javi?"

"I might retire after this season. You know, if the Olympics go well," he says, not meeting Yuzuru's eyes.

"You're young." It's the only thing Yuzuru manages to say, hoping it conveys how premature he feels Javi's decision is.

"I know...but, I'm tired. And I'm away from home all the time, and it's just, it's a lot."

"I'm away from home too," Yuzuru says, with an edge. Not adding, 'further away than you', out of his newfound resolution to pay more attention to other people's feelings.

"No, I know that, Yuzu, I know," Javi says, and pats Yuzuru on the thigh. Yuzuru recoils from the touch and Javier drops his hand but pretends not to notice otherwise. "It's just...these will be my second Olympics, maybe it's time, if I do well, what's left?"

"Third Olympics."

Javier throws his head back and laughs, a full body laugh, and then turns to Yuzuru with a tender smile on his lips. "Of course you'd say that."

"I'm scared too, but I'm not running away," Yuzuru says, not returning the smile. Steeling himself for a possible fight. He can vow all he wants to be more sensitive, but he can't stay quiet when he sees someone he admires acting like a coward. 

"I'm not scared," Javi says, confused. "Nervous yes, bu-"

"Yes, you are," Yuzuru interrupts him. "You're scared of not doing good, because that means working harder. But now you have excuse: 'I was going to retire, anyway'."

"Yuzu, you're being cruel," Javi looks aghast, and he's back to not meeting Yuzuru's eyes. "I'm not running away, I'm tired. We lead a tiring life, and we give up a lot for the privilege of being kicked down every day. Maybe I've-"

Maybe Yuzuru has had enough. Because he says fuck it to propriety and starts crying in the middle of Javi's would-be monologue, while some B-movie plays in the background as the perfect soundtrack for this shitshow of an evening. 

"I'm scared too," Yuzuru says, between sobs he tries to muffle on his sleeve.

Javi pulls him close across the couch, until Yuzuru is halfway on his lap and wraps his arms around him. He rubs Yuzuru's back and whispers shushing sounds against his neck. And that's exactly why Yuzuru avoids crying around other people, because they all do this, especially men – Yuzuru's tears become a problem they have to solve. The press love it when he cries, because it makes him look young, helpless and overwhelmed, and that's an easy sell. Everyone else loves it too, because they get to be the one who isn't crying. 

Javi runs his thumb over Yuzuru's cheek, catching the teardrops. "I hate seeing you cry," he says. Well that's a first, Yuzuru thinks, trying to pull away, he really can't win with Javi. 

"Why?" He asks, trying again to move away from Javi's touch, but he just slides his hand down to hold on to Yuzuru's neck. 

"Because you look so beautiful, and it makes me want to do things like this." And he kisses Yuzuru.

Yuzuru is so stunned he has no reaction for a couple of seconds. Javi's warm lips move against his and Yuzuru stands frozen in place, wondering if he's dreamt about this moment so much that he's hallucinating it. He's kicked into action when Javi starts to pull away. Yuzuru clings to his shoulders and brings their mouths close again, running his tongue over Javi's bottom lip until he opens his mouth to give him access. It's a wet, messy kiss, Yuzuru still has tears streaming down his cheeks and Javi is panting against his open mouth like kissing Yuzuru is causing him pain, and Yuzuru wouldn't trade it for the world.  

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry" Javi says, against Yuzuru's lips, pulling away between words and then bridging the distance to kiss him again. "You have a boyfriend, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that," he says, after pulling away for good, and holding Yuzuru back with a gentle hand on his waist. 

Javi is a great actor, he even has the sad, hang-dog eyes to go with the apologetic words, but Yuzuru is pretty sure he couldn't care less about Yuzuru's 'boyfriend' if he kicked down the door right now.

"It's over," Yuzuru says, climbing all the way onto Javi's lap. "Wanted different things." He wanted me and I wanted you, he doesn't say.

"Oh, I'm-"

Yuzuru kisses him before he has the chance to apologise again. The kisses stay sweet for a while, before Yuzuru turns them dirty with sharp little bites on Javi's bottom lip and starts grinding his hips against him. Javi moans into the kisses and grips Yuzuru's ass to bounce him on his lap and against his straining cock. There's a real possibility they could come just from this and that would be a shame. Yuzuru has other plans.

He runs his hand through Javi's hair and grips, pulling his head back with a sharp tug. "Fuck me."

"Are you sure? We don't have t-"

"Not asking," Yuzuru says, pulling on Javi's hair again to get his point across.

Javi's eyes go clouded, all pupil. And there's that dazed expression Yuzuru loves seeing on the face of a man who's about to fuck him. It means he can ask for the world and he'll get it. He gets dizzy, from lust and the power trip both. He opens Javi's jeans one handed and palms his cock over the thin fabric of his briefs. "Fuck me," he says again, this time whispering the words against Javi's ear.

Javi kisses him and hauls him up by the waist, Yuzuru wraps his legs around his middle and lets himself be carried to the bedroom. He breaks into a fit of giggles when Javi almost crashes into a dresser and drops him, Javi slaps him playfully on the thigh for it. He gets tossed on the bed and is still laughing and bouncing on the springy mattress when Javi climbs up after him. He stops laughing when Javi holds his wrists against the bed and snakes one hand down Yuzuru's stomach and under his joggers' waistband. He chokes on a moan when Javi's hand closes over his hard cock. There's a wet spot at the front of his boxers where his dick is tenting the material and Javi runs his index finger over and it in slow circles. Yuzuru gasps and tries to cant his hips up to get more friction but Javi lets go of his wrists to push his hips down. 

"I won't let you do whatever you want," Javi says, rolling Yuzuru's shirt up and baring his nipples, bending over to flick his tongue over one and making Yuzuru hiss and squirm in his hold. "You don't call all the shots."

Yuzuru smiles up at him. They'll have to see about that. He takes advantage of his free hands to push his pants and underwear down and kicks them over the side of the bed, all in one motion, while Javi gives him room to move and watches in rapt fascination. Yuzuru raises his knees up to his chest and tilts his hips up. Javi inhales sharply. 

"Do you need instructions?" Yuzuru asks, tugging at his cock with one hand and playing over his hole with the other. 

It turns out Javi does need some instruction, despite being the definition of eager. He gives Yuzuru an enthusiastic if sloppy blowjob, before being told to stop and move on, but it's when he's fingering Yuzuru that they hit a snag. Javi has his fingers tilted the wrong way, so that his knuckles brush against Yuzuru's prostate instead of his fingertips, which would have been fine if he knew what he was doing.

"No, like this," Yuzuru says, and turns Javi's hand around before slipping two fingers inside himself to guide Javi's over his prostate. 

Javi watches mesmerised as their four fingers move inside Yuzuru. "I need to fuck you, now," he says in a gasp, pressing a palm against his dick, still trapped in his jeans. 

Yuzuru slides his feet up to spread his legs wider, in invitation. "You can."

Javi gets rid of his clothes, and Yuzuru admires his muscular body, runs one hand down his abs to feel them tighten up under his fingertips. He makes a move towards Javi's thick, hard cock, but his hand is batted away. He smirks smugly. Javi is that close just from fingering him. He's going to lose his damn mind once he actually fucks him.

But first. "No condom," Yuzuru says, when Javier moves towards his bedside table.  They both got their bloodwork done in time for the Olympics, clean of all performance enhancement drugs, and STD's that might justify the use of any controlled substances.

Javier's eyes widen at that. "I'm not gonna last long, if we don't", he says, running a proprietary hand over Yuzuru's thigh. 

"Figure it out."

Javi's nostril's flare, and he takes Yuzuru's words as the challenge they are, because after coating his cock in a layer of lube, he runs the cockhead over Yuzuru's hole, spreading the lube around and making only little thrusting motions, threatening to slip in but never pushing hard enough. Yuzuru moans in frustration and tries to move back and impale himself, but Javi pushes his knees back against his chest and traps him in place. 

"Beg," Javi whispers against Yuzuru's lips, a glint of something wild in his eyes that thrills Yuzuru beyond words. 

"First, do something that makes me want to," he says, biting down on his lower lip.

Javi pushes inside him in one smooth stroke, never breaking eye contact. Yuzuru tries to remain impassive, but the drag of Javi's cock inside him is too good and he can't help throwing his head back and moaning. Javi fucks him slowly, with steady measured strokes, almost slipping out before thrusting back in at an agonising pace. His breath comes out in harsh pants, and Yuzuru can see the tendons straining on his arms, this is costing him, but he's determined to make Yuzuru break first. Two can play at that game. Yuzuru twists his hips and tightens around him, making him gasp.

"I can come like this," Javi hisses through his teeth. "Can you?"

Yuzuru probably can if Javi jerks him off, but that's not what he wants. He lets out a frustrated whimper and relents. "Fuck me hard, please, please, please." 

Javi smirks and kisses Yuzuru, a soft tender kiss in perfect contrast to everything they're doing. "You only had to ask, baby."

He snaps his hips and drives in hard, making Yuzuru choke on his tongue. It's perfect. Javi sets a relentless pace, deep and fast, making Yuzuru move up the mattress and the bedpost smack against the wall. Javi holds on to Yuzuru's waist and leans back, watching his dick slide in and out of Yuzuru's body with a pained expression. Yuzuru tries to muffle his moans on his own bicep, but they come out of him unbidden, little choked off whimpers he can't hold back every time Javi's cock slams against his prostate and sets him on fire. 

"You feel so good, so warm and tight around my cock," Javi says, running one hand from Yuzuru's chest down to wrap it around his dick and stroke lazily a couple of times before letting go to slide up again and flick a nipple. 

Yuzuru shuts his eyes tight, but he can't escape Javi's words or his touch. His hands on him feel like a brand, marking him forever. Yuzuru's cock has been leaking precum steadily for a while now, making it pool on his abdomen, he runs a finger over it and brings it to his mouth. He makes eye contact with Javi as he sucks on his finger and makes a show of moaning around it.

Javi's hips stutter and he lets out a drawn-out moan, before resuming his brutal pace and thrusting into Yuzuru with renewed vigour. Determined to rise up to every challenge. He's fucking Yuzuru so good he's close to becoming insensate from the strength of his pleasure. He can feel his orgasm building at the pit of his stomach, scorching him from the inside.

Javi bows over Yuzuru, dropping his hand from the headboard and planting it by Yuzuru's head. He places wet kisses from Yuzuru's neck up to his ear, and whispers, "I'm going to come inside you."

Just like that Yuzuru is coming, ropes of cum stripping his stomach and chest and almost hitting his chin. He's almost sure he screams, but he can't be certain, because after two sharp trusts Javier whimpers brokenly and comes too, and Yuzuru is too enraptured watching his face slacken with bliss to focus on anything else.

Javi shivers over him, his arms straining to hold him up. Yuzuru runs hands over his back and gentles him with meaningless sounds, even as he's still winded from his own orgasm. Javi smiles down at him, with impossible tenderness, and kisses his temple, his forehead, and finally his lips. They trade tiny sipping kisses, revelling in the intimacy of what they shared, letting the vulnerability of the moment wash over them.

They have to pull apart at some point, or risk getting stuck together. Javi pulls out, making Yuzuru wince, who then lets out a pained gasp for an altogether different reason when he feels Javi's cum trickling out of his hole. 

"Fuck, that's a sight," Javi says, sounding drunk. He runs his fingers through his own cum before pushing it back inside Yuzuru.

"Mhm, feels good-" Yuzuru squirms as Javi pushes more cum into him. He's sloppy and wet and this feels dirty in a way he hasn't experienced before but has fantasised about often.

Javi chuckles but continues lazily fingering Yuzuru. "You're something else. Trust you to turn sex into a competitive sport." 

"Complaining?" Yuzuru asks.

"That was the hottest thing that has ever happened to me," he says, seeking and finding Yuzuru's prostate as if to drive the point home.

Yuzuru shudders, overstimulated beyond pleasure and into pure feeling. "Ten minutes, before going again," he says letting the sensation glide over him.

Next to him Javi laughs and kisses his shoulder, "Sure, baby, whatever you want."

\---

Things settle into a pattern up until they leave for Sochi. Yuzuru goes home with Javi most days, and they fuck like madmen. It's exhilarating and exciting, and if Yuzuru had any doubts sex was one of his favourite things in the world they would be all gone by now. In the middle of it all the only thing that bothers him is that they don't talk about it. Nothing has changed except they have sex over every available piece of furniture in Javi's apartment, and sometimes Javi will skate by him during practice and whisper some grade-a filth into Yuzuru's ear. Other than that, things are the same as they've always been. For someone who complained Yuzuru wasn't letting him in, Javier isn't making much of an effort to talk about what led them to their current relationship. Whenever Yuzuru brings up the issue he changes the subject.

It hits him on the plane to Sochi, two weeks later. They're friends with benefits. The irony isn't lost on him. Karma has a twisted sense of humour he'll give it that.  Yuzuru almost works himself into a fit before he realises he is acting insane. He can't be mad at Javi for something he hasn't done yet. Maybe Javi isn't ready to talk about things because their relationship is so new. Maybe he wants to take it one day at a time. And really the Olympics are not the time to be rocking the boat. But If he is honest with himself, he's afraid of Javi doing to him the same thing he did to Émile. Of offhandedly calling Javier his boyfriend one day, only to be met with a confused, 'What do you mean? You're just a guy I fuck, sometimes." 

At any rate, he's still pissy when he meets Javi later, after having unpacked and put away all his stuff in the room he shares with Daisuke. He's lounging on the bed flipping through all Russian channels, while Javi hums to himself and piles up clothes in a dresser in a way that to Yuzuru defies logic. He throws himself on the bed next to Yuzuru when he's done, and immediately nuzzles into his neck, murmuring soft words against his skin.

Yuzuru doesn't acknowledge him and keeps flipping through channels he has no actual intention of watching. 

"Are you tired?" Javi asks, still mouthing at Yuzuru's skin, at the junction where neck meets jaw.

"Not in the mood," he replies tersely.

Javi chuckles. "Who are you and what have you done with my Yuzu?" 

Yuzuru's heart seizes at those words, 'his Yuzu', but does he mean it? "What happens after?"

"After what?" Javi asks, now running his hand over Yuzuru's clavicle, pulling away at his collar to get to skin. 

"The Olympics. This. Us."

Javi's hand falls away, as he puts some distance between them, before saying, "You know, having sex with you hasn't changed my mind. I'm still retiring if things go well here." 

Yuzuru doesn't say anything for a while, just keeps flipping through channels as if Javi's words don't make him want to start crying the same way they did two weeks ago. That's all the answer he needs, then. There's not much of a relationship if Javi is all the way in Spain and Yuzuru is still in Toronto. He doesn't fool himself into thinking he can keep whatever it is they have alive via cam shows. 

"You know what I think about that," he says finally, his voice is steady and his eyes stay fixed on the tv screen. 

Javi sighs, "Yeah I do. But Yuzu-"

"Ok," Yuzuru says, cutting him off to peck him on the lips. "Have to go, meeting Daisuke. See you later." 

If Javi wants casual then Yuzuru will give him fucking casual. He's had the privilege of Yuzuru's undivided attention, let's see how he likes to share it. 

They're on a tight schedule, and it's not like they could have spent the same amount of time together as they did back in Toronto, but Yuzuru still makes sure Javi notices when he could have chosen to spend time alone with him, and instead opts to hang out with the other skaters, playing around with the same carefree abandon as in every other competition. They still have sex, but instead of sleeping over, Yuzuru showers, kisses Javi goodbye and goes back to his own room. No-strings-attached sex doesn't come with cuddling. 

Javi definitely notices something is different, but he doesn't say anything. Sometimes he will pull Yuzuru back by his wrist when he's about to leave, but Yuzuru will make some noise about having to go back to his room and Javi will let him, stealing one last kiss but not arguing. Yuzuru wishes he would. Just so he could say, 'How do you expect me to sleep over when you're in Spain?'. But Javier never does.

They still joke around with each other on the ice, and Javi is clingier than ever, Yuzuru indulges him like he would back at the TCC, but he ends up putting some distance between them eventually, moves away to go over his programs alone or to chat with another skater. It would be easier if they could have an honest talk, but Yuzuru can't imagine laying that kind of pressure on Javi at the Olympics of all places, it would be childish, selfish. He concedes that he isn't acting particularly mature anyway, asking Alex to spin him when he knows Javi is watching. But it isn't anything he wouldn't have done before they started fucking.

The biggest competition Javi faces for Yuzuru's time is the media, in any case. They hound him at every instant, every second he isn't practicing on the ice he is giving either a soundbite to some obscure publication he isn't entirely sure isn't just some weirdo who managed to get ahold of press credentials, or nearly dying from boredom in an elaborate press conference, where he gets the distinct privilege of being on the receiving end of Patrick Chan's stink eye.  

Yuzuru could answer most reporter's questions' in his sleep. 'How does it feel to be a favourite to the gold medal?', 'Great, such an honour, amazing adversaries, anyone can win', 'Is it hard spending so much time away from home?', 'Yes, but It's a necessary sacrifice', 'What motivates you to work hard every competition?', 'My country, my family, my friends, my trainers, and all the people looking up to me'. It's mind-numbingly boring for the most part. Once in a while he will get asked actual thoughtful, engaging questions, and it's a small miracle each time. Mostly he knows to smile, look humble, embarrassed, shy, or a combination of all three, and the stories will write themselves. He poses for pictures like a high schooler with a very active social feed, star-struck and a little vapid. He accepts compliments with bashful gratitude. They will write painfully dull pieces about him, about how talented he is, how hardworking, and not a grain of ego to show for it. 

It's exhausting, but it's the price he needs to pay to keep them off his back, to stop them looking too closely. Not just the press but the judges too. It was Johnny Weir who told him, one of the first times they met, 'Listen, don't make the same mistakes I did. The secret to getting away with wearing outrageous costumes and skating like an attention-seeking whore is acting too innocent to know what you're doing.' As a huge fan of Johnny's downright slutty costumes and his attention-grabbing programs, Yuzuru took his advice to heart. 

Some people, of course, know better. "What do you think would happen if they knew?" Javi asks. He skates behind Yuzuru and drapes one arm across his chest pulling him close. The gesture would look friendly to anyone glancing over, but Yuzuru can hear the suggestive lilt in Javi's words, feel the warmth of his breath against his ear. "What do you think all those Japanese reporters would do if they saw you like I did last night?"

"Depends. You took pictures?" Yuzuru asks.

Javier drops his face against Yuzuru's nape and exhales roughly. They're being more obvious now. "I wish we could, you know. I love the way you look when you're turned on."

In for a penny in for a pound. Yuzuru turns around to face Javi and drapes his arms loosely around his neck. "Like what?"

Javi huffs in amusement, and runs one hand down Yuzuru's back, scratching lightly. "My grandmother, who's very Catholic, you see...She says god made all the useful and practical things on earth, and the Devil made all the beautiful and dangerous ones." He leans in closer to whisper into Yuzuru's ear, lips catching and sending shivers down his spine. "You look like something the Devil went to great pains to make."

Yuzuru closes his eyes and sucks on a breath. Javi can't say that kind of stuff to him and then just plan on walking out of his life in a couple of weeks, it's not fair. 

Misha skates by them and coughs loudly, before Yuzuru has a chance to reply. They break apart, looking around self-consciously. There are too many cameras on them, and there's only so much Yuzuru's naïve act can protect them from.

\---

They don't have sex the night before the short skate. Yuzuru wonders if they should have because he spends the entire night tossing and turning without ever being comfortable enough to fall asleep. He manages to wake up Daisuke with his fidgeting who screams at him, throws a pillow at his face and threatens to make him sleep in the hallway if he doesn't quiet down. Yuzuru stays still after that, but sleep doesn't come any easier. 

The next day he's so nervous he almost throws up several times, all the way up until he steps on the ice and the music starts playing. Then he forgets everything and just skates. Not twenty seconds in, he realises this is going to be the best short of his life. It's the greatest feeling in the world, skating when he knows he'll land every jump, match his heartbeat to every beat of the song and never miss a step. He's in a daze all through the kiss and cry, and he knows he skated well, but it's only when he sees those two letters, 'WR', that it dawns on him – he isn't just a favourite to win the gold medal. The gold medal is his to lose. 

He stays behind to watch Javi's short, and it goes beautifully too, he's only behind Yuzuru by the time he leaves to face the media hordes.  In the end, Javi is overtaken by Patrick Chan, who makes sure Yuzuru doesn't forget he loathes him with every breath he takes. In his very polite, Canadian way. Yuzuru returns the barbs in equal, polite, Japanese fashion. They would probably trade insults disguised as compliments all day if the media scrum didn't break up, for all intents and purposes oblivious to their little verbal sparring match. 

"My smile is stuck this way," he tells Javi when they reach his room, arms laden with food so they won't have to go out again today. Yuzuru dumps the food on top of the little desk pushed against the only window in the room and goes to stand in front of the mirror, poking at the corners of his lips. "So fake, could be plastic," he says to his reflexion. 

"If you win the gold medal some Japanese toy company will make plastic dolls of you. Your plastic smile will live on forever," Javi says, coming to stand behind Yuzuru. He laughs at the face Yuzuru makes at him in the mirror and drops a kiss to his temple. 

"What about you? What will Spain make?" Yuzuru asks, leaning back against Javi's solid chest.

"Ah,  _cari_ , I'd be lucky if I got people to say, 'Figure skating? We have that here?', forget about any dolls." He tries to make a joke out of it, but Yuzuru knows how much it must hurt. Growing up in love with the ice in a country that only cares about the sun. 

"They will, after the free, they will," Yuzuru says, turning his head to kiss Javi.

It's bittersweet sleeping in Javi's arms that night, but he can't make himself go back to his room. His agony at Javi's impending retirement seems distant and trifling in the face of what they can achieve tomorrow. Yuzuru reasons that it's better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all. It will be alright, maybe now that he has the memory of these few weeks he'll finally be able to move on. 

Neither he nor Javi skate particularly well in the free. The best thing about Yuzuru's skate is his costume, which Johnny described as 'Juliet being surprised in the bathroom by an amorous Romeo and protecting her modesty with the nearest gem incrusted curtain' while they were hashing out the design. Yuzuru just rolled his eyes and said fine, fine, as long as there's plenty of illusion mesh. It's enough for the gold medal though, he just wishes he had put on a better showing and not popped two jumps on the biggest and best stage in the world. Javi isn't so lucky, and he narrowly misses out on the podium. Yuzuru barely has the time to see him, between being rushed from one place to the other, to talk with the press, cry for the cameras some, and stay within close proximity to Patrick's disdainful glare. He can glare all he wants, Yuzuru is an Olympic champion, disastrous free skate or not. 

Among the many congratulatory texts and e-mails that flood his phone, there's one in particular that fills him with joy.

'Hi, Zuzu, it was good to hear from you! Congrats on the Olympic gold btw. You were amazing, except for the part where you fell on your ass, that was amazing too but for different reasons. I just want you to know there's no hard feelings. Maybe when you're back in Toronto we can grab a coffee sometime, I know you hate Tim Horton's but there's other coffeeshops, you know. Anyway, wish you all the best, and I hope to hear from you soon. Kisses. É.'

Yuzuru reads the message twice, with a bigger smile each time, and then saves it to his favourites.

He doesn't fully realise what Javi not medalling means until he's knocking on his door, much later that day. Javi lets him in with a smile that more closely resembles a pained grimace. Yuzuru searches for the right words to say for a long time, before giving up and sitting on the bed next to him. He's glad he left his medal in his room.

"I'm sorry," he says, breaking the suffocating silence. 

"For what? You got what you wanted. I guess I'm not retiring after all."

Yuzuru turns his face away from Javi and covers his mouth with his sleeve, trying to choke back a sob. "Not like this." He wants to add, 'I wanted you to choose me, not have the choice made for you.' But he isn't sure Javi would appreciate it. 

"Yeah, well, you got it anyway."

That night, Yuzuru doesn't have to tell Javi to fuck him harder, he does it all on his own, ramming into Yuzuru from behind, making him scream, and moan and lose his grasp on English entirely. It's brutal, demanding, and Yuzuru is sure he's never been fucked this good, nor will he ever be again. Because Javi isn't just fucking him, he's pouring all of his frustration into this. Yuzuru remembers thinking he wouldn't mind being Émile's consolation prize, months ago. He's pretty sure he's Javi's right now, and the thought alone is almost enough to make him come. He falls on his chest, unable to brace himself any longer. Javi just holds him up by the hips and keeps pounding into him, driving desperate, choked off moans from Yuzuru's slack mouth. He pulls out suddenly, strips his cock in vicious, audible pulls, and comes all over Yuzuru's back and still twitching hole. Yuzuru jolts when Javi shoves two fingers back inside him and pumps his cock with his cum covered hand, it doesn't take long for Yuzuru to come all over the bedspread. He collapses on his stomach, uncaring of the wet spot, panting like he just got done skating a free program. 

Javi slaps his ass and goes the bathroom, there's the sound of water running. He wonders if Javi is going to leave him here like this, covered in his cum, and too fucked out to move. He wonders if this is punishment for winning when Javi couldn't. He doesn't get to torture himself with that thought for long, because Javi comes back with a warm towel and starts wiping him down, whispering sweet praise that wash over Yuzuru like a caress. When he's done he drags the covers over them, kicking away the top blanket, and climbs into bed behind Yuzuru. 

"I never got to say," He murmurs, dropping a kiss to Yuzuru's shoulder and then the first knobs of his spine. "I'm proud of you. You deserved the gold."

"Thank you," He has to blink furiously to keep the tears at bay. "I wish you...I mean, that us..." Yuzuru trails off, there's too much he wants to say.

Javi shushes him. "I know baby, I know."

Just before he falls asleep Yuzuru inhales deeply, fills up his lungs with as much air as he can and takes stock of himself. He's an Olympic Gold Medallist and the man he loves is sleeping next to him, his warm breath tickling Yuzuru's nape. For the first time in his life Yuzuru thinks his bones are finally big enough to hold all of him. Javi might not love him back yet, but he will, Yuzuru knows it with the same sureness he knows he'll win another Olympic Gold. He has time on his side, and the same resolve that got him here in the first place. He turns around, burrows against Javi's bare chest and smiles into the dark stillness of the room. 

**Author's Note:**

> Unforeseen consequences of writing this fic: I now love Émile and want to give him the world.
> 
> Osti - communion wafer  
> Torrieu (tort à Dieu) - lit. harm to god. a milder sacre but my favourite  
> Cari - diminutive of cariño


End file.
